The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Chapter Twenty-Three
Several days later, Harry was surprised to see Firenze standing at the doors to the Castle staring out at the falling sleet. Frigid air blew in and a fine spray of icy mist had dampened the centaur’s pale blond hair and palomino body. Firenze swished his tail and his withers rippled as he pawed the stone floor of the Castle entranceway.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked. “It’s freezing out there. You’ll get sick or something.”
The centaur turned his head and his sapphire blue eyes fixed on Harry with amusement and then dread. “How do you think our kind normally survive in the forest, Harry Potter?”
Harry flushed a little, but he said stubbornly, “That’s not normal, that ice. If you stay out there too long, it’ll kill you, won’t it?”
Firenze considered him gravely and said, “You see more than you think.” He turned his head back toward the Forest, and the expression on his face was full of yearning, and fury and fear. “I fear my kind may not survive the fury of the Dark One’s enchantments.” He took several mincing steps out into the falling ice, and Harry could see that he seemed to shudder away from its very touch, as though it scalded him at the same time that it froze.
Firenze turned back and said, “Tell Dumbledore that I must try to persuade my herd to seek shelter from this. If I am successful, I may return, with others.”
“Wait!” Harry said. “The others, they’ll kill you, won’t they? Because you came here, to help Dumbledore.”
“They are my family,” Firenze replied. “My brothers and friends.”
“Just because they’re your family,” Harry said quietly, “doesn’t mean they won’t hurt you.”
Firenze met Harry’s anxious gaze and answered calmly, “Friendship and love are very deep magics, Harry Potter. Both of these are part of being a family. They resonate, deep in your blood. In the end, the ties of blood are among the greatest of magics.” Harry looked at Firenze in polite disbelief. If he had ever met Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, he’d have a different view.
Firenze smiled gently and said, “They took you in and gave you shelter, though they feared you and would have preferred not to. Your parents died to protect you. Do not underestimate the ancient ties. They gave you life and shelter you still.”
Then, resolutely, the centaur moved with sudden startling speed into a canter and then into a full gallop straight into the forest. Harry swallowed down the rising bile as he realized that Firenze had not said what he might do were he unsuccessful at bringing the others back with him.
They had Divination with Trelawney instead that afternoon, although peculiarly, she came down from the North Tower and taught in the grassy circle that had been made for the centaur. Her hugely magnified eyes were pools of sorrow.
“I fear,” she whispered. “Death creeps in on every side. Death stoops to seize my esteemed colleague. Death hunts, hungrily, hungrily. His appetite for destruction is not appeased. Soon, soon, I fear, death shall seize its prey and devour it; devour all.” At this last, her gaze fixed on Harry and a tear ran sparkling down her thin face to drip on her jangling turquoise and amethyst beads.
Harry stared back stonily, trying to conceal the fact that she had shaken him badly. He was used to Trelawney’s dire warnings and pronouncements, especially the ones that featured his own early demise. But her whispered words chimed all too mournfully with his own nightmares and depression and plucked at his mind for hours afterward, like a harpsichord whose key was stuck on some minor note which echoed on and on and on.
He took refuge in the Room of Requirement again that night, being sure to let Hermione know to wake him before class the following morning. Even as the bird, though, some inner instinct woke him and he took flight inside the room, circling its perimeter, but not quite daring to leave its confines. With a shrill of defiance, he turned back into his human self and left without waiting for Hermione. Impelled by a swelling anxiety and rage, he ran down the seven flights of stairs and stared out the Castle doors at the ice shrouded Forest, from which Firenze had yet to return.
A black sky lowered down upon the world and the obsidian ice turned the Castle grounds into one vast mirror that reflected the thunderous, dark clouds. A sudden spark of lighting forked out of the clouds and illuminated the huge skeletal trees and set a small fire going at one end. But the falling ice quenched that bit of light almost instantly, and he turned away from the gloom with the terrified knowledge that the day was the first of spring, but no spring had come.
Hermione caught him staring out the door and hissed at him in a whispered rebuke. He turned to stare at her and said, “I think Firenze is dead, Hermione. I think everything out there is dead, or dying.”
She cut short her complaint about his doing unsupervised tricks and paled. “What do you mean, everything is dying?”
“All the creatures in the Forest,” he answered, “all of them, the unicorns, the centaurs, the birds, the veelas, the thestrals even. I think they’re all dying. Voldemort is killing them. Killing their magic: eliminating their protection of Hogwarts, so he can get to us.”
She pulled him away from the door and said, “You’re frozen! Come away from there you idiot!” He did not resist and when she shoved hot coffee at him and a plate of piping hot eggs, he drank and ate obediently, feeling as though he were tossing fuel onto a fire, but in preparation for what, he did not know.
Throughout the day, Hermione and Ron and Ginny made sure he was never alone. During the day, it was Ron or Hermione who kept anxious eyes on him and fell into hushed conversations whenever they thought he was preoccupied with his work or with his thoughts. After dinner, Ginny took over, as Ron and Hermione had prefect duty – patrolling the Castle to assist Filch with security.
Ginny had curled up in the common room in one of the cushiony armchairs nearby where he was sitting. She was pretending to write an essay for one of her classes, but Harry could feel her gaze on him every time he looked down at his own work or at the spitting fire. In another corner, Lavender and Parvati were discussing their Divination essay: Discuss the Influence of Pluto upon Venus. Harry didn’t even bother thinking about that one. He had already written ten terse lines stating that Pluto’s baleful influence would freeze Venus’s restorative presence.
“Maybe we should include something about the equinox and the sun and earth and moon being in alignment,” Lavender mused. Parvati glanced furtively from Harry to Ginny and said, “Today’s the equinox. The veela will dance today.”
Harry spared a fleeting glance at Ginny and saw that although she had not turned her head or appeared to react, her cheeks had gone pink, and Crookshanks, who was perched on the back of her chair, arched his back and fluffed his fur out suddenly and spat, as though her annoyance had been expressed through him.
But his attention was distracted by Seamus, who said, “Who’d want to dance in that? I bet they all stay home or hide out in their nests, or whatever they have instead of coming out to dance in the ice.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a look-see at a dance,” Dean answered. He too glanced surreptitiously at Harry. Harry determinedly did not answer and pretended to be deeply absorbed in his essay on conjuring for Transfiguration.
Neville, as he often did, had simply listened to the exchange. Now, he stared in alarm at Seamus and Dean and said, “The veela have to dance. It’s part of their magic. They die if they don’t dance.”
Ginny lifted her head and frowned at Neville. “How do you know that?” she asked. “We haven’t studied that in any of our classes.”
Neville shrugged and said, “My Gran told me. And it’s in a book I was reading for the entrance test to St. Mungo’s. The rare Moonflower Potion,” he quoted,” and the even rarer Bloodflower Potion have great restorative properties. A canny Healer can obtain stocks of fresh moonflowers on the morning after the veela dance. One must be sure not to enter the circle whilst the dance is on, or the unwary wizard may be caught in the frenzy of the magical dance and die.”
Harry felt a sudden spasm of terror. Fleur, he remembered, had been ill since Valentine’s Day. Could she have been affected by the weather even more than they knew. Was it her veela blood that made her more vulnerable to the darkly magic weather? He looked at the parchment before him. The firelight turned the creamy paper red and he saw, in his mind, images of the veela queen, entombed in ice; he saw, in flashes, the unearthly beauty of their dance as he had seen it the previous year. Harry remembered the whirl and the pleasure of the dance and the golden mist that had lit the circle as they sing and spun. He knew, then, what had to be done.
With an eye on Ginny, he casually rose and made his way toward the portrait hole. He crept out and walked in the direction of the library at first, in case anyone was watching. Then, when he thought himself unobserved, he waved his wand made himself invisible. A short jog took him to the fornt door, and he slipped out into the freezing mist without raising a clamor.
The icy mist stung his face and he paused to do the Impervius spell on his glasses and all over. But nothing could make the journey across the slick grounds and into the dying Forest any less treacherous. He slid to the ground several times and had to grab onto icy roots to haul himself back up again. Branches slapped his face, but nothing else moved.
The Forest was eerily still and silent and so dark he had to light his wand in order to see at all. The normal canopy of leaves was gone, and the sky seen through the skeletons of the great trees was midnight black. Only a faint gray circle of lesser dark picked out where the moon must be, high overhead and on any other spring night, full and brilliant white. He strained his ears, listening for any sound, for any creature, friendly or dangerous, and for the song of the veela, that ought to fill the air here, near to their innermost circle.
Harry stopped again and reversed the Invisibility spell. Despite a slight sharpening of sight (as invisibility spells did tend to make one rather near-sighted) no greater light appeared. He continued on toward the veela's circle, and finally, faintly, came the sound of song. But this song was not like the song he had heard before, beautiful, entrancing, exciting. This was more like a dirge, a keening wail of sorrow and loss that brought unexpected tears to his eyes. He followed the sound and there in the cicle, in the dark, his wandlight picked out the frozen figures of the veela, arms embracing each other in a circle about the clearing, their great beauty dimmed and frozen by streaks of black ice that turned their cascades of silver-fair hair solid and their lovely forms into living sculptures barely capable of movement.
In the center of the circle, their queen lay still. She was not beneath the ice, as he had seen in his dream, but even as he stared aghast, another layer of the ice covered her and the small brown growth that she clutched in her fingers withered. He thought, let me not be too late, and with a shaking hand, he raised his wand and turned it on himself, slicing a long shallow cut in the palm of his left hand. The air was so cold, he was so cold, that at first it seemed as if his very blood were too frozen to run. But a drop splashed down on the queen's face and another and another. An eldritch shriek made him pause.
"What are you doing?" Ginny yelled. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Harry Potter?"
He looked at her and sighed. He should have known she would follow. "I'm trying to wake her. They have to dance," he said. "Without the dance, they'll die and so will everything else. You heard Neville. He's right."
"If you wake her, she'll kill you," Ginny said. "Come away."
Harry shook his head and held his bleeding hand over the queen. "Sing," he said as another drop fell on the veela's face. "Sing," he said to Ginny. In the weak wandlight, the still form stirred. Another drop spilled onto the frozen creature and her eyes, lake blue, opened. Ice clung to her lashes and as she moved to rise, ice cracked, but resisted her attempts.
Harry knelt and laid his bleeding hand upon her cheek and then took the stiff, icy hand of the creature in his and said, "Get up. You have to dance. Your daughters are dying." He looked at Ginny again and her face changed from fear to wonder and to sorrow.
"Sing," he pleaded with her. "Something happy. Anything." She gawped at him and then started singing the Hogwarts school song, which made him stare back at her and laugh. It was a very weak little laugh, but the veela stirred and a tinkle ran through the circle that might have been the sound of many women laughing, or the tinkle of breaking ice. The queen rose stiffly and she rasped, "Do you come to dance?"
"I do," he answered, and he was amazed when Ginny stepped forward and laid a hand on his and said, "and I." The queen raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it as if she were a courtier from another age giving a courtesy to his lover. Then she turned his hand over and ran a frozen finger over the open cut and licked the blood from her own.
"More!" she said hungrily. This time, the queen pushed back the arm of his robe and with a long, sharp nail, she sliced open his arm and blood poured out, warm and ruby red. She drank and the ice fell from her in rivulets and the others moved, singing, to join in.
"Oh, Harry," Ginny said. She shook her head, bereft of words and tears slid down her cheeks. She pushed back through the others and held out a hand and said, "Here, use mine, too."
The song rose, no longer sad, but piercingly beautiful and joyous and he felt no pain. The queen reached for his other arm and sliced that one as well, and blood ran in streams onto the frozen ground and about him the veela held out their hands for drops to taste. The song rose stronger and as the ice slid from the creatures in chunks and in streams of water, they began to dance, slowly at first, and then more quickly, winding about each other and about him in an ever increasing whirl.
The queen wound her arms through his and turned him, this way and that, until dizziness possessed him and he no longer knew up from down or right from left. She passed him through the moving circle of women until he came, at last, face to face again with Ginny. She held up her hand to show him the blood running from her slender fingers and her reached for it, twining his with hers.
"Brave girl," he said, "You are so brave."
She smiled at him and said, "I don't need any courage when you're around. You have enough for all of us." He turned her around and around in the center of the dancing veela until they were both dizzy and would have fallen but for the weaving, singing creatures supporting them. Then the song hushed and a groaning wind swept through the trees, bending them this way and that, flattening back down the tiny green vines that had sprouted up and ice coated again, the tiny glowing white and red flowers that had sprung up in the circle.
Harry cried out in defiance and said, "Sing!" He twirled Ginny again and the veela followed. The song rose once more and the queen reached for him again and spun him out into the waiting arms of her daughters. Hands clutched at him, a nail scored him here and there, but he felt nothing but pleasure and triumph. Mouths kissed his hands and his arms where he bled and a golden mist formed in the circle, rising from the very earth and spreading outward to push away the dark. He was flung by the swirling whirl back into the center, embraced by the queen, and then, and odd thing happened. Then queen stepped back and took his hand and placed it into Ginny's.
He stood stock-still and the song rose about him, beautiful. The women were the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. But when he looked at Ginny, at the stubborn face and the bright red hair, he thought, this is real. This is beautiful. She smiled at him then, with joy and with great sorrow, she kissed him, without thought, a sigh escaped him, words escaped, that he hoarded in his mind, in his heart, and kept under lock and key.
"I love you," he said.
The golden mist rose and swept out pushing the dark before it. Ice ran and melted from the trees and puddled in pools water and then sank into the ground as frozen roots awoke and drank. In the circle, green vines with moonbright flowers draped about the branches of the trees, made crowns about the veela's heads, trailed in living necklaces about their necks. And everywhere Harry stepped, red flowers, with petals as ruby red as blood sprang up and the veela plucked them and ate them and sang.
Sometime into the night, a stately unicorn came in and then another and another. Their coats were white-bright and shone more brightly than the moon, whose glow had pierced through the dark to make a single clear circle of brightness. The dance continued, and Harry could not tell when he fell. Could not tell how long it was when Ginny pilowed his head in hers and his vision blurred. He watched the golden mist and he seemed to be a bird upon the wind following the mist above the trees, scudding through the air, pushing back the dark and the cold.
He watched the golden mist and he seemed to be a bird upon the wind following the mist above the trees, scudding through the air, pushing back the dark and the cold and bringing a warm spring zephyr behind it. Everywhere the golden mist touched, ice melted and turned to dew. A long distance away, the mist sank down an ancient stone chimney and belied into an enormous stone cauldron. The cauldron exploded and a thousand pieces of stone blew out to scour the ancient stone hall and fling down the tall, red-eyed demon that stood by.
***
They had Potions class first thing that morning, and Hermione was trying half-heartedly to scan her notes one last time before their end of term test. Ron wasn't studying at all. He ate hungrily as always, but he scowled at the food as though he might find some answer to a question he'd been puzzling over.
"I guess we'd better get to class," he said.
"Harry's not down yet," she said.
Ron shook his head. "Yes, he is. He was up before anyone else again. In fact," he added frowning, "I'm not sure he ever went to sleep. Seamus said he was in the common room with them all, but none of them can remember what time Harry went up." Hermione sighed and wondered whether she ought to confess to Ron about Harry's secret sleeping quarters. She decided he would be seriously angry though, that he had been kept out of it, and took a last sip of her tea instead.
"We might as well go to class," she said briskly. "Ginny was watching him last night. She'd have said something if anything was wrong."
"Would she?" Ron asked. "She's just as likely to go off and get into trouble with him, don't you think?" But he shrugged and followed Hermione down to the dungeon classroom.
Every other student was already in class when Harry walked in. Hermione gawked at him as did everyone. His hair was more untidy than it had ever been and his robes were damp and looked as though they had been slashed to ribbons in places. His face was utterly colorless, but his eyes were bright and serene as they looked sometimes when he was the bird. She saw that he had green vines tangled in his robes and a small white flower stood out against the jet black of his hair.
She started to hiss at him, where have you been, but Snape swept in just then and she had to close her mouth before the scolding words came out. Snape tapped the board and the directions for their test appeared. "You have an hour and fifteen minutes to complete the test," Snape said. "I trust you are prepared. This is an exact duplicate of a NEWT Potions test that was given five years ago. I expect each of you to pass." His black gaze scanned the room and students shrank before it. Harry had not even unpacked his books or parchment yet. He did so clumsily and Hermione noticed that he held his quill with difficulty.
"What the devil have you been up to, Potter?" Snape's voice rang. The Potions master came to stare at Harry and his cold gaze traveled over the state of his robes, noted the stains he was leaving on the clean parchment and came to rest on the white flower that sat in the jet black hair. A bony hand reached out plucked the tiny flower with its trailing green vine. Harry leaned slightly away, but even from the desk next to him, Hermione could smell the scent of the flower on him and the spicy scent of male. Snape stared at the flower and at Harry and a dull brick red flush rose in his bony face.
"Are you mad?" he rasped. Harry gave a brief shrug and did not reply. He seemed to be using all his energy to keep standing up and he made as if to start to write again, but the quill trembled in his hand. Snape seized Harry's wrist and took the quill and Harry flinched visibly as Snape turned over the elegant, long fingered hand to reveal a bloody slash that still dripped blood on the palm. Black eyes narrowed and the bony face tightened with anger, but still Harry said no word in his defense.
Snape stared at the white face and bright green eyes and then he pushed back the sleeves of Harry's robes, first one and then the other. At the time, she thought it astonishing that Harry stood still for it, but she understood later that he had been incapable of any resistance. On the inside of each of the thin forearms, long, deep slashes oozed blood and when the bright red flowers fell out of his sleeves, she thought, at first, they were drops of blood as well.
"What have you done?" Snape asked. The whole class ceased to breathe waiting for some explanation for Harry, but still he did not respond.
"You were out of bounds last night," Snape accused. "You were in the Forest at the veela's dance." Eyes widened at that and Hermione could hardly suppress a whoop of fury. He had done it again, gone without them, and gotten into trouble, and nearly... the thought was cut off by Snape's snarl.
"What were you doing?" At last, Harry answered. He looked up at the high dungeon windows through which a shaft of sunlight streamed.
“The ice is gone and Voldemort’s dirty great stone cauldron is destroyed,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Spring is here.” Snape stared at Harry and at the pure blue sky that peeped in through the leaded glass and back again.
“You did that? That’s not possible.”
Harry frowned and said, “Of course I didn’t. They did. The veela. Their song and dance. I didn’t realize their magic was so powerful.” Snape’s black eyes narrowed. He picked up the two red flowers taking great care not to crush their delicate blooms and held them in the palm of his hand.
“You should be dead,” he said. “You didn’t go there voluntarily, did you? Not even you could be that foolish and stupid.”
Harry blinked and shrugged and swayed slightly. Some indefinable emotion crossed his face, and clouded the bright green eyes. Then he replied defiantly, almost rudely, “Well, we couldn’t have Voldemort ruin our last quidditch season and prevent us from beating Slytherin one last time.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth and he added outrageously, “After all, Malfoy deserves his last chance to beat us, too.”
Snape flushed brick red and Hermione saw it had gone too far. She noticed that Ron’s face and ears were flushed nearly as red as Snape’s.
Snape lifted his wand but he didn’t use it on Harry. He pointed it at the door and a flash of silver came out, the summons, she knew, for the Order of the Phoenix. Almost instantly, Dumbledore appeared. Too soon, in fact, for him to have come on account of the summons. His blue eyes took in the scene in a glance and he strode over to Harry and Snape.
“Potter has been out of bounds again,” Snape said. “He was in the Forbidden Forest last night, in the veela’s circle.” He held out his hand with the two blood red flowers for Dumbledore to see.
Dumbledore looked gravely at Harry and said, “Is this true?”
Harry, however, showed neither anxiety nor relief. His face was paler than ever. Hermione couldn’t think how it was possible for a person to be that pale and still be conscious. He nodded mutely and simply stood, waiting.
“The hospital wing, then,” Dumbledore said calmly.
“I’m fine,” Harry said, though clearly he was not. And when Dumbledore merely pointed to the door, he said testily, “I hate being in hospital.”
Malfoy snickered and Snape said coldly, “Then you ought to avoid stupid stunts and use what little brains you own.”
Harry shivered and in the brightening sunlight, he looked nearly transparent. His eyes, however, were quite serene again and he looked at Snape with nearly the same inhuman glance as he had when he became the bird.
“Really, Professor,” he said, “you ought to hold off on your criticism. I brought you back a souvenir, you know.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his robes and brought out masses of tiny flowers. In one hand were small white blooms, as tender and pure as a beam of moonlight. In the other, were more red blooms, moist and dewy, each petal a ruby drop of blood. Then he spilled them together into Snape’s outstretched palm and a drip of real blood slid down from the weals on his arms to mingle with the flowers.
Snape made a strangled noise, and Dumbledore said, “No!” It was Ron who had to the presence of mind to catch him, when Harry finally collapsed.
Dumbledore's blue eyes looked shadowed almost frightened. "This class is canceled," he said. "Profesor Snape will give the test another day."
Snape did not protest. He looked from the mass of flowers in his hands to Harry's limp form and said, stiffly, sneeringly, "You'd better hurry, before his latest stunt becomes the Dark Lord's latest triumph."
Dumbledore gave Snape a sharp glance and replied, "You'd better bring those with you."
Madam Pomfrey muttered the most severe imprecations as she dealt with Harry’s injuries. After disinfecting the wounds with a smoking purple potion, she paused to stare frowningly at the deep slices on his arms and hand. “It’s very peculiar,” she said. “Very peculiar indeed.” Lips pursed, she stared at Harry’s still face as if she were tempted to shake him awake just so she could yell at him.
“What is it, Poppy?” Dumbledore asked. Hermione could not recall ever seeing him look so worried, except perhaps the previous year, when they had all been sure Harry would die.
“The injuries are not all the same,” the healer replied.
“Explain,” Dumbledore commanded.
“The two deep cuts on his arms are the worst and they are undoubtedly from the veela,” Madam Pomfrey said. “The one on his right arm nicked a vein and it’s a wonder he hasn’t died of blood loss and shock already.” With a bright blue light from her wand, she closed the wounds on his arms, leaving behind only two long pink lines that would eventually disappear. Then she lifted up him left hand, where another deep slash still oozed blood and inspected it closely.
“That one’s different,” she said. “That was made by a wand.” Hermione felt a strange shock, a frisson almost electrical that ran down her spine and lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Snape had returned and he spoke the very thought Hermione was thinking, “Veela do not have wands.” Snape handed Madam Pomfrey a ruby colored potion, which she proceeded to force Harry to swallow. He woke for a moment half-choking, but then lapsed back again after he had swallowed the remainder of it.
“Well,” Madam Pomfrey said grudgingly, “he should be all right if he stays quiet for a few days. Even with a potion, it takes the body some time to produce new blood in the quantities he’s lost.” She sniffed and glared at Dumbledore and all of them generally. “You’d best keep a better eye on him than you have been.” She muttered as if insulted, “Always getting up to dangerous scrapes and mischief, that one is. I’ve never seen the like.” The healer started to leave, but Snape stopped her.
“Are you sure the cut on his hand is from a wand?” he asked. Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly and Snape looked at Dumbledore. “Who else would have been out there? Who?”
Hermione did not look at Ron, though she was sure he was thinking the same thing he was. Ginny was supposed to have been watching him. Had she gone with him? There was no way, Hermione thought, that Malfoy could have pulled the same trick he had last year. And in any case, Harry had not accused him. He had virtually admitted he had gone on his own, for a reason. The ice was gone.
Something stirred in her mind and she understood suddenly what had happened. Ever observant, Dumbledore said quickly, “You know something, Miss Granger? What is it?”
“I don’t,” she said reluctantly. “That is, I think I can guess who made that cut in his hand.” Ron stirred as though he would be angry, but he said nothing and she continued even more reluctantly as the idea gave the demon of anxiety that lay in wait an opportunity to spring.
“Harry made that cut himself,” she said hesitantly.
Snape stared in astonishment. Dumbledore, however, looked only weary, not surprised. “Are you saying he meant to do himself harm?” Dumbledore asked sharply.
She shook her head, feeling Ron’s outraged stare upon her. No doubt he felt she was betraying their friend. “No,” she said finally. “I think he made the cut to offer them his blood. He thought it would help them, I think.”
“He must have known when he did it then, that they would kill him,” Snape said harshly. “A foolish way to end his problems and it failed miserably, like everything else he tries.”
Hermione looked at the Potions master furiously. “He wasn’t trying to end his problems. He was fighting Voldemort, breaking the spell that made the ice. He knew the risk and he thought it worth it. That’s not the same thing as you’re implying.” She looked at Dumbledore and said,
“He gave them what they needed to have their dance and break the spell. The veela’s magic is related to fertility and growth, right? That’s what moonflower potions are used for. He gave them the blood they needed to make their magic and make the plants grow and bring on spring. And to melt the ice.” She thought back to what he had said in the class and added, “He said so when you asked, Professor Snape. The veela broke the spell. But they only did it because he helped them. And they didn’t kill him either.”
Dumbledore stared at her, an arrested look on his face, as though some thought had come to him he did not care for at all. He shook his head and said quietly, “It was a very dangerous risk. Too great almost.”
“What about Ginny?” Ron asked afterwards. He was looking very grim and he said softly, “Every once in a while I understand what Snape is feeling and that’s scary. How could he?” he asked angrily. “Not tell us again, the stupid prat.” Hermione did not reply. By common consent they made their way to the Great Hall where students were already showing up in scattered bunches for lunch. Ginny was sitting with several of her friends, although unusually, they were all chattering and she sat quietly sipping a cup of tea.
“Shove over,” Ron said to his younger sister. “We need to talk to you.” Obligingly, Ginny moved over and smiled radiantly at them. This was looking worse than Hermione had thought. Mentally, she cursed the pair of them, as she had a feeling Ron was going to have a major Weasley tantrum any moment.
“Where were you last night?” Ron asked harshly. “You were supposed to be watching Harry.”
“I was,” she said calmly. “I did.”
“He went into the Forest,” Ron said ominously. “You didn’t stop him? Why didn’t you call us?”
“Well, I didn’t know soon enough, did I?” she retorted. “He tricked me. He snuck out and did the Invisibility spell on himself. But I figured out where he was going and followed him.” Something of her radiance dimmed and she asked, “He is all right, isn’t he? He said he was.”
“He’s in the hospital wing,” Ron said bluntly. “He lost a ton of blood and practically bled to death. You were there and you didn’t stop him?”
“I tried,” she said softly. “Then when I understood what he was trying to do, I helped.”
“You didn’t cut him?” Hermione asked aghast.
“No,” Ginny said. “He did that himself. I couldn’t believe it at first. Then I saw, they were all dying, you see. Everyone of them. And the queen was going first. Everything in the Forest was dying,” she said defiantly.
“How’d you know, then?” Ron said angrily to Hermione. “Did he tell you?”
“No,” she said coolly. “I guessed. He’s not suicidal, you know. If he wanted to die, he could’ve gone out and challenged Voldemort anytime and simply not tried too hard. If he put himself at risk, he had a good reason. It was the only thing that made sense.”
”Then why didn’t he tell us?” Ron said loudly. Several first years nearby stared uneasily at Ron and scooted away quickly.
“I don’t think he knew himself until the last minute,” Ginny said slowly. “We were in the common room and Parvati and Neville were talking about it being the equinox and the night of the dance. It was right after that he got up and left.” She shrugged and said, “You’ll have to ask him.”
“Well, how come you didn’t get him to the hospital wing anyway?” Ron asked. “And,” he added, his gaze hardening, “how long were you out there anyway?” Ginny made a vague gesture so that Hermione saw a cut on her hand, just like Harry’s.
“All night,” she answered dreamily. “He’ll be all right, though,” she said. “The veela gave him something after. Some kind of nectar and the queen thanked us for dancing with them.” That information was almost as disquieting as the rest and Hermione could see Ron wasn’t getting any happier. She caught Ginny’s hand, very like Snape had Harry’s, and asked, “What about this? Do you have any other cuts, like him?”
Ginny shook her head and said, “No. I offered them mine, too, you see, when I saw how the blood revived them. But they didn’t want mine. Only his.” Her gaze sharpened suddenly and she said, “I’d better go see him. I should have made him go to hospital anyway. I should have known better than to believe he was all right.”
Ron stopped her and said, “What did you do then? While you were out there all night?”
“We danced,” Ginny replied dreamily, “and sang and there was this mist, all golden that came up and pushed the ice away. It was beautiful.”
“If Voldemort doesn’t get him,” Ron said, “I just might have to do it myself.”
“Don’t be a total git,” Ginny said coolly. “I went after him. He didn’t tell me to come.” Ron spluttered but still looked distressed.
Ginny stared at him coldly and added, “And you’d better not say anything to Mum or I’ll have to tell her about you and Hermione.” Then she whirled away and made for the stairs going in the direction of the hospital wing.
“I’ll have to wring her neck first,” Ron said to the air.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Hermione said sharply. “Nothing happened like you think,” she said bluntly. “He would have been bleeding too badly for anything like that to happen.” Ron flushed even redder than he had been, only this time with embarrassment.
Then he said with protest, “How does she know, anyway?”
Hermione stopped being angry and smiled. “She’s not blind. You’re not exactly the best actor in the world, Ron Weasley.”
***
For several days after the equinox, Madam Pomfrey kept Harry sedated and poured him full of all kinds of potions, which he was too weak to refuse. Though he mustered enough energy to complain at least three times a day, afterwards, he realized she had saved him considerable distress. The ruination of the weather spell had infuriated Voldemort and it wasn't long before he struck back in other ways.
The derailing of a commuter train from Richmond to London was attributed by the Muggles to a faulty electrical switches in the rail system. The collapse of the huge lights that lit the nighttime games for the Fulham football team was taken to be a freak accident. And the mysterious fire that devastated the ancient cathedral at Salisbury was responsible for every arsonist and minor tramp in the county being questioned by anti-terrorist police. Wizards knew better, of course.
For Harry, those several days were a haze of potion induced stupor punctuated by sudden, searing bursts of pain in his scar, and muted flashes of rage that flooded through the stupor, and washed away again as quickly.
On the day before Easter holidays were due to start, however, Madam Pomfrey let him out of hospital on the condition that he would rest and return in the evening for another dose of Revitalizing Potion. Having his liberty again was both a pleasure and a punishment. They were to have a Hogsmeade visit during the day and the long postponed Gryffindor Slytherin game that evening. A game in which Harry was forbidden to play.
"I'm perfectly fine," Harry groused, but under the combined glares of Hermione and Ginny, he put on an extra thick Weasley sweater and wore his dragonhide jacket, even though the day was warm and almost summery.
Filch gave them all a suspicious stare as they left and muttered to Mrs. Norris, "They're up to something again, my sweet. Going to nick dungbombs from Dervish and Banges, I bet, and set them off when I'm not looking. And who'll have to clean up, I ask you?"
As they walked past the lake down to the village, Ron shook his head and said, "I wonder when they're going to send Filch off to St. Mungos. I swear he's gotten more barmy every year."
"Barmy," Harry snorted. "He's not barmy. He's just evil. He's a nasty, spiteful, envious, disappointed old man who likes to torture students. Sometimes I think Dumbledore keeps Peeves here just to keep Filch distracted from his job." Ginny giggled and Hermione clucked.
They made their way directly to the Three Broomsticks and were surprised to find a brand new sign set up in the green just in front of the inn.
"Enchanted Forest" read the sign. "A new community of charming European style chalets in a magnificent forest setting. Enjoy old world charm with all the newest conveniences. Inquire at the agent's for prices."
"What on earth is that?" Harry asked.
"Ta," Madam Rosmerta said. "It's those Muggles who were here last fall. They've gone and built these Muggle houses just on t'other side of the Forest. They think the Muggles will come walking through to Hogsmeade to drink their pints and buy their groceries."
"Muggles? In Hogsmeade?" Ron said. "But Hogsmeade is the only all-wizarding village in Britain. That's not on. And what'll happen when some of them get eaten by spiders or bit by werewolves?"
Madam Rosmerta preceded them back into the in and said, "We can't keep them out of there. It's not like they've built in Hogsmeade or in the forest. They're outside the Forest proper."
"Yes," Hermione said, "but who owns the land there anyway?"
"Well, I don't know," Madam Rosmerta answered. "Only those Muggles that came said some rich man bought up the land on spec because there's such a rage for these weekend cottages."
Inside the inn, it was crowded and noisy as the students dashed in and out, full of anticipation for the last holiday before their exam season was upon them. Hermione pulled out her agenda and flipped through the pages, checking off various goals and writing in new ones.
"Look," she said to Harry and Ron, "I've rearranged the study schedule so we can fit in a review of these last few classes Harry missed. Then we can start on a global review of each NEWT subject we'll be taking. I reckon we can get through the first half during Easter vacation and then I've scheduled the remainder in sections over the final term." She beamed at them with a combination of pride in her plan and anxiety over the process. Harry forbore to say that he had a feeling he would flunk every NEWT with the possible exceptions of Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. At that moment, though, he cared less about failing his NEWTs than about missing playing his last ever quidditch game against Slytherin.
"You don't think I could just play?" he said tentatively. Ron's eyes brightened, but then he remembered to glare at Harry with the girls.
"Don't even think about it," Hermione said. "You'll fall off your bloody broomstick, as weak as you are."
"I will not," Harry snapped.
"Yes, you will," Ginny replied. "I'll knock you off it myself, if I have to."
"Huh," Harry said testily. "I'd like to see you try." Ginny drew her wand and tapped it on the table like a drummer playing a march. Her brown eyes were full of annoyance and mischief.
"Put that up," Ron said hastily. "You'll only make things worse if you start a row here."
"Not till he says he'll be a good boy," Ginny retorted.
Harry rolled his eyes and said under his breath, "Weasleys!" Fortunately, neither Ginny nor Ron heard as Madam Rosmerta brought their butterbeers. Only Hermione giggled quietly and then choked a little when she drank hers too hastily to evade Ron's questioning gaze.
The worst moment of the afternoon came when Malfoy strolled back to gloat at Harry. "Sitting out the last game, Potter?" he said cheerfully. "Too bad, isn't it? The price of being a hero, I suppose."
"We both know who'd win if I were playing," Harry snapped back.
"Do we?" Malfoy asked thoughtfully. "Maybe it's a good thing you're not. After all, you wouldn't want to go blind in the middle of the game and fall off, or plough yourself trying to dive for the Snitch." He smiled with all his usual hostility and sauntered off to lay a hand on Parvati's shoulder. Harry half-rose and thought very seriously for a moment of cracking his glass mug right over the blond Slytherin's head.
"Never mind," Ginny said. "He won't be catching the Snitch anyway. I'll make sure of that."
The spring night had turned rather cool, but that didn't deter the students from turning out to watch the quidditch match. Practically the whole school was there and even some of the teachers who never came showed up, including Professor Trelawney. It felt odd to be sitting in the stands and Harry was on the verge of stalking back down and simply playing anyway when Professor McGonagall sat down next to him. On his other side, Hermione gave him the most severe of her glares and Harry knew he had no hope of getting away with his rebellion.
"Oh, dear," McGonagall said, "I don't think I can stand listening to Professor Snape gloating if Slytherin wins."
"Neither can I," Harry said quickly, ignoring Hermione's furious stare. "I'll, erm, just run down. I think I can change before they start."
The look McGonagall gave him was more withering than the stare of a basilisk. "Don't move, Mr. Potter," she said, "unless you wish to watch the game as a mouse or perhaps a frog? I don't generally approve of Transfiguration as a means of discipline, but as you seem to have lost every bit of common sense you were ever blessed with, extraordinary measures may be needed." McGonagall rolled her Rs as she did when she was particularly annoyed.
Harry gulped and sat back down. If there was one teacher in the school he really didn't like to cross, McGonagall was it. Below them, Madam Hooch had released the quaffle and the game was on. The Slytherins had replaced Crabbe and Goyle with two more large thuggish types, a species that their House had in abundance. Their team this year really was no match for Gryffindor's, even without Harry. Neville was commenting and he was trying his best to give the commentary something of the flavor that Lee Jordan always had.
"Slytherin in possession of the quaffle and Derrick flogs a bludger but it misses. Too bad, and they're going for a score, and yes, Weasley's blocked it! You'll have to get up earlier than that to get the quaffle in past Weasley." Harry relaxed slightly, but out of habit, he scanned the pitch for the Snitch hoping that Ginny would catch it quickly and get the game over with a good solid win. Harry's hopes were elusive, though. The game stretched out as Gryffindor racked up a hundred points quite rapidly. After nearly half an hour, the game turned.
"Slytherin back in possession," Neville's voice boomed out. "And that's a bludger aimed at Weasley. Look out, Ron! He ducks it quite easily, and oh no, a second bludger knocks Weasley half off his broom and, Slytherin scores. That's a hundred to ten and still no sign of the Snitch witches and wizards." The crowd on the Gryffindor side groaned and Harry and Hermione both rose shouting. At the other side, Ron righted his broom and flew back up, holding one hand to his head.
The play grew rougher as Slytherin attempted to repeat its tactics and the beaters continued to send bludgers at Ron every chance they could get. "Gryffindor in possession," Neville boomed out. "Slytherin's chasers are using every means they can. I say, that's a foul! Referee, penalty, penalty!" The score was a hundred fifty to ten and Harry was growing more nervous by the minute, even though he knew they had a good lead. As the penalty shot went in, making the score a hundred sixty to ten, Harry saw it. the Snitch fluttered right by and hovered just there, in front of his nose.
Instinctively, he reached his hand out and McGonagall, said, "What are you waving at, Potter?"
Hermione gawked and said, "Harry! Don't you dare! We'll forfeit the game altogether!" Longingly, he gazed at the winged golden ball, hanging there, as if it knew that he couldn't touch it. He withdrew his hand and the ball darted down, but Malfoy and Ginny had both seen it. They dove from opposite ends of the pitch, hands outstretched. The crowd was on its feet, but Harry couldn't bear to watch. He closed his eyes and let the roar of the crowd wash over him.
"And the Seekers have spotted the Snitch," Neville bellowed. "Go, Ginny!" he yelled, forgetting he was supposed to be impartial. "They've both reached for it! Who's got it? They're fighting for the Snitch! I've never seen a fight like it!" Harry opened his eyes and looked. Ginny and Malfoy each had a hand on the golden ball and they were struggling fiercely for possession. Malfoy yelled something, and he shoved at Ginny's broom forcing her sideways, but she would not let go and he was forced to spin over with her as he would not let go either. They hit the ground with a thud and rolled over.
Two broomsticks flew back into the air and bounced about wildly as the two Seekers rolled over each other still struggling for the Snitch. But on the ground, Malfoy's size and greater strength won out. He raised the golden ball in triumph and only one wing was missing. Ginny held out the single beating wing and then released it back into the air, where it floated for a beat or two and then fell to the ground and lay still.
"Slytherin takes the Snitch," Neville said sadly. "Game over and the score's a hundred sixty to a hundred sixty. That's an even tie folks and the season cup is still up for grabs." Harry and Hermione scrambled down as fast as they could. The Slytherins were screaming and yelling as though they had won. Harry reached Ginny and knelt down beside her.
"You're not hurt are you?" he asked.
"I lost," she said. "I hate losing. I hate losing to him more than anything." She whipped out her wand and stood up. Her face was flushed red and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.
"Don't!" Harry said.
"I will!" she said. "You don't know what he said about you, when we were going for it!" For a moment, Harry's fists clenched and the wild rage that occasionally possessed him surged through.
He spun around and yelled, "Malfoy!" Malfoy turned at Harry's call. His pale face was flushed with happiness and his pale gray eyes met Harry's furious gaze. The flush disappeared and a new look supplanted it: fear. The rage washed away as suddenly as it had come and the ache in his scar told Harry that at least some portion of the rage was not his own. He breathed in deep and tried to swallow down the shame at the expression on Malfoy's face.
Harry reached down and helped Ginny up and he said very calmly, "It takes a brave man to tussle head to hed with a Weasley."
"How could you let him get away with that?" Ginny asked as they made their way back to the Castle. Harry looked at her and said simply, "If I went after him every time he made a nasty remark about me, I would really be expelled by now."
"That was not just a nasty remark," she said hotly. "It was foul and hateful. He'd gloat if you were dead."
Harry stopped and pulled her to the side to let other students stream past them. "What did he say, then?" Harry asked, though he thought he could guess.
”Tell your boyfriend he's too noble to live," Ginny quoted. "If you could have heard it, the sneer of it, the poison. I hate him," she raged.
"Your boyfriend!" Harry exclaimed. "What makes him think I'm your boyfriend?" Forgetting the rest, a wild panic seized him. "Damn! Damn!Damn!" he cursed. "Now every Death Eater in training will send the news home to their daddies and you'll be a target."
"I don't care," Ginny answered. "How long do we have to go on like this anyway? For all you know, Voldemort could still be around when we're fifty, when we're a hundred. Are you going to shut yourself off from living forever, Harry? You've let fear of him confine you so far that you don't even want to live anymore." She started to weep and continued back toward the Castle.
"Wait!" Harry said. "How can you say that? You don't get it! Do you think I could live with myself if Voldemort goes after you? Don't you understand? He's killed everyone, everyone that's near to me. My Mum and Dad. Sirius. He even tried to kill my Aunt Petunia." He stared at her and said, "Am I afraid? I am. I'm terrified every day I'll wake up and find you gone or Ron or Hermione." He turned away and shot back at her, "I told you months ago. I'm not anyone's boyfriend. Not until Voldemort is dead."
Ginny ran in front of him and shoved him back. "Maybe Draco is right. You are too damned noble for your own good. You can take risks. You can get yourself practically killed and leave us terrified thinking you're going to die. But no one else is capable of being brave. Do you know how selfish that is?" She shoved him again, with surprising strength for one so small, and said, "Get this! I don't care about Voldemort! I don't care if anyone knows! I am not waiting until I'm hundred years old for you to admit to everyone else what you said to me in the forest. I'm not letting Voldemort cheat me out of my life. He came close enough once already. I won't let him do it again!"
Instead of shoving him away then, she pulled him close by his robes and reached up on tiptoe to kiss him. He knew, he did know, that he should push her away and stop it. But inside him, rebellion rose up, and he kissed her back, wanting nothing more than to make up for all the time that had been stolen from him. A wolf whistle brought him back to reality and the pleasure and defiance drained out of him.
He looked down at Ginny and said hoarsely, "I don't think I'm the only one who's brave. I think you're too brave. You're not afraid when you should be."
